


True Romance

by silentgraywarden



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Control, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5375438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentgraywarden/pseuds/silentgraywarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Harley/Joker vignettes. Dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence

**Author's Note:**

> I started this collection in 2011 on ff.net and sort of abandoned it when I went through my depression. I'd like to keep it going here whenever the mood strikes. Feedback is always accepted and greatly appreciated!

Harley was so pretty when she bled, fast-moving lips pulled tight in a grimace of white, immovable lines, creases wearing on features too young and fine to have them. It was in moments like these that he truly savored life, when the unintelligible babble ceased and only the hushed sounds of strained breathing, harsh gasps really, filled the air.

Holding the switchblade poised over her flesh, he paused with a chuckle, allowing the stinging metal to droop, the poignant contrast evident in the shuddering hiccup that escaped her as silvery tears welled in those baby blues.

Tomorrow he'd kiss her.

Tomorrow he'd make it all better.


	2. Death, Pt. I

She didn't sign on for this.

He was shouting at her as the flames grew, a deafening roar that resounded grotesquely over the grave screams of Gotham's latest DA - a man sitting in a pool of his own blood, clutching frantically at his face as the flesh burned, practically melting beneath violently trembling fingers.

"Harley!" Joker growled, suddenly at her side, grabbing her by the ear and dragging her along, "You tryin' to get us caught?!"

Even at his worst, he was still gentle, although the throbbing in her skull dictated otherwise as he hurried her outside and into the alley, the hand that left her ear now slung over her hip. Her throat tightened when she felt it tremble, the cause and underlying feeling evident on his face, grinning even wider with the surge of adrenaline and sadistic satisfaction at the wreckage behind.

There was no cause anymore, only his desires left smoldering in the void and creating a tool-like station for the pet she had become, her only companion the now constant sound of Dent screaming; convergence she prayed for, and a quick passing for Harvey.


	3. Death, Pt. II

The heat emanating from him grew along with the Cheshire grin on his face as she leaned low over his shoulder, both pairs of eyes tracing anxiously over the details in the morning paper.

Dent was in critical condition; she frowned, hands that usually strayed beyond the boundaries of his fair skin knotted behind her back, contemplating the physics of their dilemma. Her breath slipped, concern wrapped up in the whisper, an aching sigh that all but alluded to the growing malcontent she felt in his embrace.

_Poor Harvey..._

Silence reigned for a moment, during which the absent sounds became apparent to her, the sounds of it clicking in his mind and eagerly dissecting her shattered psyche on a plate. Twisting around, he peered up at her.

"You don't seem yourself today, Harl'..."

Her bottom lip quivered, a forceful bite squelching emotion and drawing blood; he would break Harvey, he was good at what he did, he was the best. The light in his eyes proved devastating, an electricity she had many times learned not to fight, but instead she offered her atonement - a slick kiss, a pressing touch that mingled delicious heat and the red gracing the insides of her mouth, a stinging purchase and promise of pain in place of devotion and sick submission.

Scars like these only looked as captivating when the promised so much more.


	4. Curio

The silk stung against her fingers as she pulled the article out of the drawer, a sense of something forbidden tingling in her spine like ice water, eyes eagerly conning the hexagonal patterns of the whimsical material. Glancing around the room, she stuffed her prize into the crook of her arm, skipping into the sanctuary of the bathroom and slowly sealing the door behind her.

Pulling on the garment with trembling digits, she shuddered; it smelled just like _him._ He was a little thinner than she was, slender and tall, all lean muscle and spindly bone...biting her lip to anchor the girlish squeal building as a tremor in her chest, she examined her reflection briefly in the mirror before hitting the sink, scrubbing away layers of white and black lacquer. New flesh appeared behind the mask, bright earthly pink hues in place of the grotesque shades she favored, finding a vulnerable uncertainty in the stranger before her.

A sharp knock from behind announced time had passed, insipid lips curving into a smile as she wiped away the remnants of water.

"Yes?"

"What?" he almost sounded insulted, "No _puddin'_ today?" 

Whenever she could harbor _this_ effect...whenever she held _this_ caliber of power...whenever she had him backed into a corner - his jaw dropped, form slacking against the door frame as he stared, heated gaze drawn to the green silk boxers slung low on her hips. Surprise was always her best element.

"Where are _your_ clothes?"

"I'm wearing them, silly!"

Mouth forming a perfect 'O', he wordlessly stepped inside, standing near a foot taller as he stood behind her. He was smiling. She didn't even notice him shut the door.

_Curiosity killed the cat..._


	5. Rigor

"Are you dead?"

His voice was a whisper as he towered over her, spread eagle on the unforgiving concrete of the warehouse floor. He had struck her because she cried, because she was _weak_. Her tears thrilled him, made him King, made his lust infallible. 

"What does it feel like?"

He circled, prodding, stroking, occasionally jabbing her ribs and legs with his exceptionally polished leather shoes - anything to get a rise, always a whimper. Her lips pressed together more firmly, resolutely still as he touched her, fingertips and jagged nails strangled within blonde locks. Her eyelids fluttered, a struggle to remain blind, to shut out her miserable Prince.

"Why, Harley - you're _blushing_!" he exclaimed excitedly, sitting back on his heels as her heavy lids peeled back, bright blue eyes staring down - his hands, the clock on the desk, his god-forsaken shoes - anything but those eyes, electric heat warming every inch. Rough hands, devils in his right, moving up, up...

" _What_ does it _feel_ like?" he pushed again, another exhilarating tug and pressure, hot breath filling her ear; this time, she looked up into the warped abyss of his eyes.

"Like dying."


	6. Tonic

If naivety had a name, its name would be Harleen.

Unfortunately, the very saccharine force of naivety itself had perched squarely on his knee, cooing affectionate yet incoherent nothings. The bubbly nymph pressed closer, bubble gum tongue wetting bare fingertips, smudging paint and fresh blood from his brow as she uncovered his wounds.

Tasting blood inside his mouth, he momentarily forgot the wiggling weight on his lap, his own tongue sorting to find the hemorrhage, liberated by seepage of more of the sweet metallic tang he had become accustomed to.

"Wicked Batsy! Treatin' my puddin' like this...He oughta be punished!"

" _You_ should be punished!" he growled, snatching her hand out of his hair and pressing it between their bodies. The simpleton was dredging his last nerve and didn't even have the slightest idea, every furious glare and impatient gesture wasted on those precious blue eyes.

"But..."

"But _what_?!"

"You need a doc - "

"A _doctor_?" Chuckling suddenly, viciously, he pulled her impossibly close, "Like you?" 

Her lips drew a tight line, gaze drawn to where he gathered her hands to his chest, "I was just playing."

The way her sweetly uncertain voice cracked delighted him, excited him to no end. Every day with her held new opportunities and more chances to extort and command.

_Gullible._

_Trusting._

_Innocent._

_Inexperienced._

_Raw._

"Hey, Harl'..."

She met his eyes, again with much struggling, not quite sure if she liked the way his eyes twinkled, the way he gripped her tighter...

_Appetite._

_Vice._

_Want._

_Malice._

_Lust._

"Wanna play doctor?"


	7. Cope

The face that stared back vacantly through the looking glass wasn't her own, wasn't human - the sunken eyes mocked her, dark rimmed with smudged black lacquer and saline, the left one darker, deep purple tingeing the delicate veined lid.

It was not the pain that drained her and left her bones brittle, muscles strained and weak; it was the lack of sleep and the complete and utter exhaustion that left her broken by the crack of dawn, the first convex sliver of gold light peering over the horizon no longer welcoming. Craning her slender neck steeply to the side, she stretched, a grotesque pop splitting the silence wide as she turned on the faucet. Red hands cupped beneath the running tap, bringing lukewarm water up and over her face, stray drops spilling down her front, knees locked and knocking against the pedestal sink.

It was almost sacrilegious as layers of decay, red and black and speckles of white swirled in the murky water. It would hurt him so to see her unhinged this way.

The jumpsuit came next. The scissors on the counter a burning weight in her hand, snipping and shredding uneven lines through the cheap costume material. Strips of red and black piled around her bare feet, offering some purchase on the slick bathroom tile as she cut herself free of the loathsome fabric.

 _Oh._ For him to see her now - naked, robbed of passion and childlike exuberance, water still dripping from the fringes of her hair and pale complexion, bruises and cuts, a menagerie for his viewing pleasure, stretched far along every inch of fresh skin from crown to the bottom of her feet.

It - no, _he_ \- had imprisoned her so, the self-righteous King presiding over his court in nothing short of a primeval quest for her dependence, his enthusiasm and burning hunger for abuse overwhelming her need to breathe. It was blindingly hateful, love in its most potent form - a masochist holding hands with the sadist, a lamb in the lion's den.

_It wasn't enough._

She had to be closer. She had to be further away. His hands were so cold...

He happened upon his harlequin hours later, a cold and bare collection of bone and flesh huddled wet and trembling inside the shower, the shower head still sputtering water that had long ago run frigid. Hopeful blue eyes turned upward upon his arrival, unabashedly looking him in the face even as his voracious gaze wandered over her nakedness, long legs bent at awkward angles in the cramped space.

"May I join you?"


	8. Revolver

"I hate you!"

He knew she didn't mean it. She didn't have the gall to revile him, let alone fess up to dissatisfaction in lieu of his brand of evil.

"So shoot me," he whispered solidly, a teasing grin spreading his thin lips wide as he plunged two skeletal fingers into his chest, "straight through the heart."

_What heart?_

She pulled the trigger.

He laughed.

He howled.

He gasped for air as fat tears rolled down his cheeks filling creases in the greasepaint. He was positively glowing. The look on her face was pathetic - shock, embarrassment, fear, and another delicious emotion he identified as pride. Cheeks flushing a deep red, she reluctantly met his gaze like a dog cowering before its master.

"I hate you too, Harl'."


	9. Beautiful

He was beautiful when he smiled.

Not handsome, not dashing - just _beautiful_ , exquisitely masculine in an overtly goofy sort of way. It made her skin tighten and burn, her heart gallop within herself as she summoned fantasies, things both torrid and absurdly genteel that caused her to soar as high as a kite.

It was perfection and desire and...and he was so _beautiful._

It was all for her.

He was all hers.


	10. Used

She was used to being manipulated, dominated, and controlled by him. Standing beside him as a glorified tool had its privileges and she would revel in the way he would allow her an inkling of magnificent possession - lips crushed against his in a demanding kiss, leaving her terrified with his allowance of her zeal and the press of her hands.

It would be over quickly enough. He was stronger and anything she could muster would easily be countered ten times over. Soon he'd shove back, forcing her against the wall with one hand wrapped around her throat and the other slanted over her hip. She was used to the way he kissed, hot and suffocating. She was used to the pressure, the anger, the violence - the blood and bruises she would awaken to.

She was used to _him._

"Harley..."

_A heady whisper, tangible heat..._

"Yes, puddin'?"

_Choke me. Break me. Use me._

"Get out."


End file.
